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Monday, 30 May 2016

Redundancy hit hard, really hard. Everything gone, being a somebody, the cars, the golfing trips to Spain. But Carol walking out with the kids, now that hurt. Could life get any worse? “You have a good day” the warden at the shelter for the homeless said. “Yeah, whatever” I muttered. The wheelie bins stank of waste food, vomit and urine, but the old adage one man’s trash is another’s treasure. The first two rubbish bags did not live up to that, but the third, “jeepers” I said, as I closed the canvas bag and briskly walked away. And then the dilemma started, the internal conflict. Hand it into the police, or not.

*

The weeks passed and despondency had set in. “Tony Johns?” I looked up from my cold mug of tea. “Yeah” I said, “what now?” “If you would come with us please” the policeman said.The detective inspector looked me in the eyes and said “the stolen property and jewellery is very valuable, and also of great sentimentality too” “So what has that got to do with me?” “Actually quite a lot” said the detective inspector, I could not believe I was hearing this “you’ve got to be joking” The woman in the azure suit walked over from the window and smiled “No Tony he is not joking and yes it’s of great sentimental value” I was starting to feel the winds of change when she said “my family can’t thank you enough for handing in our property and we would like you to accept this reward by way of thanks”